


Luke's Epilogue

by Wordy_Birdy (SocksAndSandals)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: First Person, Happy Ending, Swearing, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 16:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21449443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocksAndSandals/pseuds/Wordy_Birdy
Summary: “Please. No time,” I begged. Gasped. I couldn’t hold much longer. I could feel my insides burning, my skin smoking with the wrath of the Titan held, temporarily, at bay. I was dying, one way or another, but I had one chance.One chance to fix at least one of my mistakes.[Luke's death, from his perspective.]
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	Luke's Epilogue

_It was like holding up the sky, multiplied by a hundred. Holding back a Titan, watching the three faces of people I knew. People I’d hurt. Annabeth’s arm was twisted wrong. Percy was at war with himself in his own eyes, Annabeth’s dagger in his hand. I watched him lift it as if to strike me._

_And then he looked at Annabeth, at Grover, and that war melted into resigned resolution and understanding._

_“Please. No time,” I begged. Gasped. I couldn’t hold much longer. I could **feel** my insides burning, my skin smoking with the wrath of the Titan held, temporarily, at bay. I was dying, one way or another, but I had one chance._

_One chance to fix at least one of my mistakes._

_Percy stayed still, the knife in his hand. His eyes met mine, and I watched him come to the only conclusion. **A hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap.** It echoed in my head, and likely his as well._

_I felt only relief when he shifted his hold on the blade and offered its handle to me. Kronos roared in my head, and Grover yelped, but Percy didn’t once look away. He knew now, what it all meant. What it meant to be a halfblood, a hero, a demigod. He knew the pain, and the loss, and the anger. He knew my bitterness. But he was different. He wasn’t me._

_I knew, as I wrapped my scorched fingers around the dagger’s handle, that he’d defy all of the odds and all of the expectations. He’d set a new archetype for demigod heroes. Ones whose stories wouldn’t end in tragedy, but in peace. Percy would fight for that. For peace._

_Gods, I wanted just a little taste of that._

_Percy watched. He never looked away. Not for a moment. Barely took a fraction of a second to blink. I undid the latches on my armor, let it fall away, expose the spot where I knew I was not invulnerable. My mind flashed back to the moment that had been poured into that spot as my weakness. A promise I’d broken. A family I’d ruined._

_I met Percy’s eyes, and pressed the curse of that broken promise into the physical memory of when I’d made it._

_It wasn’t a deep cut. It didn’t need to be._

_And it was enough. As the pain tore through me, as Kronos **screamed**, as I distantly heard my own voice howling, echoing through the throne room of the gods, I got to feel it. I thought once that revenge tasted sweet, but this? The sliver of peace that filled my mind with warmth was even better. Better than ambrosia. Better than nectar._

_Then the fire of Kronos was gone. My insides were seared but my pulse pushed on, following the demands of my mind that I last long enough to say what I desperately needed to._

_I barely registered the sarcastic quip that left my tongue, but I saw Percy kneel next to me, reverent and pained. Another ghost of my own causing to haunt him for the rest of his days. And then Annabeth and Grover, tears already filling their eyes. Annabeth first, then._

_“You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew…”_

_“Shh,” she hushed. I could see the pain in her gray, gray eyes and added it to my growing list of regrets. “You were a hero at the end, Luke. You’ll go to Elysium.”_

_I shook my head, feeble as it was. Elysium? Where everyone would be? Silena, Beckendorf, Lee, Castor, everyone that had fallen in this final battle in Manhattan._

_Ethan. Gods, **Ethan**._

_“Think… rebirth,” I said instead, taking a shaky breath – and not just because I was dying. “Try for three times. Isles of the Blest.”_

_“You always pushed yourself too hard.”_

_I held up a burnt hand, and Annabeth touched my fingertips so gently it was like she thought they would just crumble under the slightest pressure. And I had to know._

_“Did you…” A cough interrupted, but I pushed on. I had to know. “Did you love me?”_

_Would she forgive me? In time? Would she carry my memory on her shoulders? Would she take my broken promise and find a way, find someone else, to make it whole once more? For a moment I almost wished I was a son of Apollo instead, and could glimpse into her future, see that she would be happy, and all that pain would ease._

_Annabeth wiped away her tears, as if she could sense what I was thinking. She could probably see it on my face. She’d always been good at reading people’s expressions. “There was a time I thought… well, I thought…” She looked over at Percy, and it was answer enough. That taste of peace settled on the back of my tongue again. She would be okay._

_“You were like a brother to me, Luke,” she admitted softly. It was enough. “But I didn’t love you.”_

_As I nodded I thought, maybe, someday, someone will. In a reborn life. Maybe I would get to taste peace again, have another shot at keeping the promise of family. If I was reborn a mortal, I would never know this pain in that life. Until I died I would never understand the misery of being a demigod. And if fate should allow it, I’d do it again, until I got to rest my soul on the banks of the Blest and taste Peace forever._

_The pain lanced through me again, and I knew I had to move on before I ran out of time. My eyes found Grover at the same time that his met mine._

_“We can get ambrosia,” he whimpered, no doubt thinking back to that day he’d led Annabeth, Thalia, and I up the slope of Half-Blood Hill. “We can-”_

_“Grover,” I said. His teary eyes lifted back to mine. “You’re the bravest satyr I ever knew. But no, there’s no healing-”_

_I was interrupted by another ragged cough. I tasted blood, bittering that sweet peace. My hand found Percy’s sleeve. I was running out of time, but there was one more thing. I had to finish what I’d started. What I’d tried to do and done so wrong._

_“Ethan,” I gasped, remembering the hopeless bravery in his eyes as he tried to strike, as the blade blew back into his own body, as he fell from Olympus. “Me. All of the unclaimed. Don’t let it- don’t let it happen again.”_

_Those green eyes held no anger as they met mine. Just understanding. Knowing personally the anger burning at my throat. Burning my last breath as it shuddered through my chest._

_“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”_

_And it was enough._

_I nodded, and I died._

_“We need a shroud,” I heard Percy say, his voice breaking even as he tried to raise it. “A shroud for the son of Hermes.”_

* * *

When I came to, I was standing outside the throne room, as if my soul had been expelled there by the presence of all the gods siting inside it. I watched Percy stop and send Annabeth on ahead of him. A healed Annabeth, her arm no longer broken, and her eyes already pushing past the pain and filled with bright enthusiasm and determination.

I watched Percy come to stand next to a god with wings on his ankles and snakes on his staff. George turned and flicked his tongue in my direction, like he could see me standing there. Percy talked with my father, first about the city and the mortals that filled it. And then.

“I owe you an apology.”

I stepped forwards, wanting to hear this. Hermes eyes briefly glanced in my direction, and then back at Percy.

“And why is that?” he asked. Cautious, even after the world had been saved. Or maybe it was just Percy. He had a tendency to surprise even the gods. Maybe especially the gods.

“I thought you were a bad father,” Percy admitted, and I took another step closer. George turned towards me again, his beady eyes warning me. I froze there, unmoving. “I thought you abandoned Luke because you knew his future and didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“I _did_ know his future,” Hermes commiserated, miserably.

“But you knew more than just the bad stuff – that he’d turn evil,” Percy continued, and I flinched at the words. “You understood what he would do in the end. You knew he’d make the right choice. But you couldn’t tell him, could you?”

My ghostly throat closed up, burning with an old anger even now. An anger that was… softening, maybe, with Percy’s words and the look in Hermes’ eyes as he stared at the fountain, knowing full well that I was listening in.

“No one can tamper with fate, Percy, not even a god. If I had warned him what was to come, or tried to influence his choices, I would’ve made things even worse,” Hermes said. I knew he was right. I wish I had known, wish that I had remembered that, all the way back when my hand was inches away from stealing the most powerful weapon in all of existence. “Staying silent, staying away from him… that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You had to let him find his own path,” Percy said, as I choked on all that old pain. The emptiness hovering over my shoulders. Family that had left me alone. “and play his part in saving Olympus.”

“I should not have gotten mad at Annabeth,” Hermes sighed, and George looked sympathetic as I stumbled to my knees on the cobblestone, struggling to fight back all the grief and pain and bitter anger with a sword made of my father’s regrets. “When Luke visited her in San Francisco… well, I knew she would have a part to play in his fate. I foresaw that much. I thought perhaps she could do what I could not and save him. When she refused to go with him, I would barely contain my rage. I should have known better. I was really angry with myself.”

_“Father…”_ I whispered, and George flicked his tongue.

“Annabeth did save him,” Percy said. My eyes lifted to his face. To the look in his eyes. “Luke died a hero. He sacrificed himself to kill Kronos.”

_“I couldn’t just let you all die to my mistake,”_ I said, knowing the words fell on deaf ears. Percy didn’t know I was there. He didn’t know my soul was lingering, waiting for something I didn’t know. Was I supposed to find my own way to the Underworld?

“I appreciate your words, Percy, but Kronos isn’t dead. You can’t kill a Titan.

“Then-”

“I don’t know,” Hermes grumbled, shaking his head. I shivered, staring down at my hands and the oh so faint golden glow they had. “None of us do. Blown to dust. Scattered to the wind. With any luck, he’s spread so thin that he’ll never be able to form consciousness again, much less a body. But don’t mistake him for dead, Percy.”

Here. The glow in my hands was evident of that enough. Hosting Kronos would have its consequences, even in death. Even scattered to the wind, some miniscule part of him rested within my own soul. Not even powerful enough to speak to me.

For that, and for the blissful hope that no one would be able to repeat my mistake and _listen_ to him, I was grateful. As long as there was a piece of Kronos tied to my soul, no one would be able to raise him without going through me, first.

“What about the other Titans?” Percy asked, and Hermes turned back to the fountain and the still floating Iris message.

“In hiding. Prometheus sent Zeus a message with a bunch of excuses for supporting Kronos. ‘I was just trying to minimize the damage,’ blah, blah, blah. He’ll keep his head low for a few centuries, if he’s smart. Krios has fled, and Mount Orthys has crumbled into ruins. Oceanus slipped back into the deep ocean when it was clear Kronos has lost.” Hermes sighed, then, and once again glanced towards me before finding Percy’s eyes. “Meanwhile, my son is dead. He died believing I didn’t care about him. I will never forgive myself.”

Hermes slashed through the shimmering news report above the fountain. The picture disappeared. My anger followed it.

I couldn’t manage any words. I just watched. Percy took another step towards the god, his eyes so soft it was hard to look at them.

“A long time ago, you told me the hardest thing about being a god was not being able to help your children,” he said, and more of that bitter anger slipped away from my grasp. “You also told me that you couldn’t give up on your family, no matter how tempting they made it.”

“And now you know I’m a hypocrite?”

_“I’m the hypocrite,”_ I scoffed, even as the words shook.

“No, you were right. Luke loved you,” Percy said. My eyes stung. He was right. I knew it even now. I loved my father. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been so bitter and lost. “At the end, he realized his fate. I think he realized why you couldn’t help him. He remembered what was important.”

_“I did,”_ I choked, whispered, not taking my eyes off the softness in Percy’s. At the forgiveness. I didn’t deserve it.

“Too late for him and me,” Hermes sighed. Percy pressed on.

“You have other children. Honor Luke by recognizing them. All the gods can do that.”

_“At least one of us can keep his promises,”_ I laughed, a new bitterness sitting on my tongue. Martha joined her brother in watching me.

“They’ll try, Percy,” Hermes said, his shoulders sagging. Already resigned to reality. “Oh, we’ll all try to keep our promise. And maybe for a while things will get better. But we gods have never been good at keeping oaths. You were born because of a broken promise, eh? Eventually we’ll become forgetful. We always do.”

_“Don’t give me that shit,_” I spit, and George hissed. _“Not when I’m right here.”_

“You can change,” Percy said, the softness in his eyes turning to fire. One that I’d given him. At least I knew that he’d be the one to keep the promise he made me. I’d known it in the instant he’d said it. Percy would forever fight my fight now. He’d carry my banner, my grief, the memory of my anger as well as his own. The children of the gods would never again be abandoned. Not while Percy fucking Jackson had breath in his lungs and fire in his soul.

Hermes _laughed_, and I nearly cursed him right then and there, pushing myself back onto my feet with my fingers curling into shaking fists. This would _Not_ happen again. _It could not._

“After three thousand years, you think the gods can change their nature?”

“Yeah,” Percy said, his tone unwavering. Stalwart. “I do.”

Hermes, at least, had enough tact to be surprised, and then quiet for a moment. His weight shifted and his head turned like he was going to look at me again. And then he stopped. “You think… Luke actually loved me? After all that happened?”

Was he afraid to look at me and see what he perceived as the truth in my expression? Percy was right. Again and again and again. He’d always been right.

“I’m sure of it,” he said, as if he could feel the pain in my soul and the emotion still clogging up my throat. Hermes stared at the fountain with sad, hopeful eyes.

“I’ll give you a list of my children,” he said, and triumph soared through me. _Yes. _You can’t resign yourself to not changing before you even try to. “There’s a boy in Wisconsin. Two girls in Los Angeles. A few others. Will you see to it that they get to camp?”

“I promise,” Percy said. He’d promised_ me_ first. “And I won’t forget.”

George and Martha twirled around the caduceus with clear glee. Even Hermes managed a smile, albeit small and still pained.

“Percy Jackson,” he said, “you might just teach us a thing or two.”

_“I’d fucking hope so,_” I agreed. And then Percy was turning, with a smile, and leaving. I watched his set shoulders travel down the path and swallowed hard. _“Goodbye, Percy. I wish I knew how to thank you.”_

“Oh, I think he knows,” Hermes said, finally turning to face my directly. “He’s a good young man. Poseidon is lucky.”

“Luckier than you?” I asked, and it came out without any of the old bitter. His conversation with Percy had washed it away. All I wanted from him now was to say it to my face.

“Perhaps,” Hermes sighed. “At least, luckier in that he did not have to watch his son twist himself up in pain and anger. At least not yet, and not by his own doing. I wish I could have done better by you, Luke.”

“He was right, you know,” I said, quiet, turning my gaze to the stone under our feet. I kicked a loose piece of rubble and was almost surprised that it actually moved.

“About what? The gods needing to learn how to change?”

“No – Well, yes, but,” I stopped and took a breath and dared to look up at him. Dared to meet his eyes and show him the mixed emotions that were running through me. The storm I could barely put words to. One that lacked all the anger and was just rain now. “If I didn’t love you, if I’d felt nothing for you, I wouldn’t have been so angry before.”

“Are you not still?” Hermes asked, a brief glimmer of hope crossing his eyes. I considered it, trying to straighten out everything that I felt about my father, about my mother, about what Percy had said. And I told the truth.

“No. No I don’t think I am,” I said, and then shrugged. “You didn’t want to leave me alone. You didn’t enjoy watching me suffer, watching me turn bitter and spiteful because after Thalia- I was alone. I had no one I could express my hurt to. So it festered. And you heard me every time I cursed you. You- you were always listening.”

I was surprised when he took a step forward and touched me. He laid his hand on my cheek and wiped away a tear that never hit the ground. George and Martha both curled tight around the staff and watched me with lowered heads. Hermes cupped my face, and I felt a sob cut through me.

“Yes, Luke. I heard you. Every time,” he said, his own voice breaking. A god, breaking. “And I’m so, so sorry.”

I shoved forwards, out of his hands, into his arms. Even as a ghost, I could feel his godly warmth soaking through me as he returned the embrace and let me cry. All that old pain was finally released. A warmth and a comfort I hadn’t felt since I’d left my mother, all those years ago. And Hermes held me through it. And no one intruded, despite the fact that we were standing right outside the throne room.

I didn’t know how much timed passed before I managed to wrangle myself back in and laugh, short and still watery.

“At least I can have this now that I’m dead,” I said, squeezing a little tighter. Hermes sighed, long and content. “At least until I’m reborn.”

“You’re really going to try for the Isles of the Blest?” Hermes asked, finally releasing me. He didn’t move far, his hands staying on my shoulders. I wiped moisture off my cheeks and shrugged.

“Dunno if I’ll get that far, to be honest,” I said. And then I sighed and turned to look out at the ruins of Olympus. “But a chance at a new life? Without any memory of all the pain I caused in this one? A chance to do something better with my soul? How could I pass that up?”

“I see,” Hermes said, his eyes sad again. “Are you ready then?”

“Ready?” I questioned. He nodded and gestured with his staff to a road I hadn’t noticed before. The stones were obsidian black, a stark contrast to the white of Olympus. It hadn’t been there before.

“Have you forgotten that one of my roles as the Messenger of the Gods, was to guide fallen souls to the Underworld? It’s certainly not Apollo’s side job.”

I laughed, in spite of the cold hard truth that was settling into my non-existent bones. My real ones would be burned with a shroud. I was dead. But it wasn’t fear that filled me, or resignation that made me take a step onto those black stones.

It was _relief_.

The path lead away from Olympus, past the road that lead to the elevator and high above it. I looked down at it as we passed, and saw Percy waiting at the elevator doors. He turned and looked right at me.

Even from a distance, I watched his eyes widen. I lifted a hand and offered him a salute, and then looked back at my dad and felt that warmth fill my chest again. Percy was frozen, and I glanced back down at him one last time. I waved goodbye, and after a halted moment Percy’s hand rose to wave back.

Even as a ghost, my cheeks hurt as I grinned and turned my eyes back to the path. Things would be okay now. The demigod world would be better without me as a part of it, and I would be better in a new life. Maybe I’d land somewhere nice. Maybe I’d live a normal, boring, average mortal life and then slowly forget myself on the Fields of Asphodel. Maybe I’d land somewhere shitty and earn my way to Elysium again, choose to be reborn, and then earn my way to the Isles of the Blest.

Whatever happened, I was free from my fate. Luke Castellan was dead. And he was happy.

I was so happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love Luke okay? He deserves to be happy.  

> 
> Also this Might turn into a longer series thing with Luke's next two lives. I have a few cool ideas already but it'll take some planning and a bit more than writing a drabble at two in the morning.  
And of course, all characters and whatnot belong to Rick Riordan and not myself


End file.
